


Sacrilege

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire finds Enjolras torn over a question of faith--and tries to show him that love isn't something sinful, no matter what two people it's between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://et-in-arkadia.tumblr.com/post/44200177824/omfg-i-screamed-and-am-still-so-this-is-pretty). That is all.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, maybe not stormy, particularly, but it was raining, and it was the only reason Grantaire found himself stumbling into a church. The doors were unlocked and the floor was dry—that was enough for him, and the scuffs of his unsteady feet against the entrance echoed in the empty space.

Mostly empty, that is.

Grantaire focused on the pews (with some difficulty), a blond head of hair visible near the very front, bowed towards the floor.

‘It must be an angel,’ was his immediate thought, and he walked down the aisle, steps now quiet in the practiced gait of a drunk.

Though, he thought it was more a testament to the angel’s focus than his own grace that he wasn’t noticed as he sat in the pew behind the figure—who, as the familiar sound of his prayer revealed, was familiar to Grantaire, if not any less angelic.

“…deliver me from temptation,” the figure—Enjolras, as it was—spoke under his breath, sounding unsure as Grantaire had never heard him. “Forgive me, Holy Father. I…please help me through this. I’m only human, please—“

“What could you have possibly done, dear Apollo?” Grantaire interrupted, causing Enjolras to start and turn around, immediately straightening up and facing him with the poise Grantaire was more used to, showing nothing alike to the uncertainty that his voice held.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, commanding an answer.

“It’s not raining in here,” was the response. “And you?”

“Praying.” Enjolras’s expression was carefully blank.

“What for?”

“Do I need a reason to pray?”

“I suppose not,” Grantaire admitted, leaning back. “It certainly sounded like you had a reason. What’s this about temptation?”

Enjolras flushed, though from anger or embarrassment it was difficult to tell, as his brow furrowed and mouth formed a thin line.

“It’s no concern of yours.”

“We’re in church, aren’t we? Let’s have a confession.”

Grantaire meant it as a taunt; his only goal was to get under Enjolras’s skin, so he wasn’t quite expecting a response.

“I’ve had…impure thoughts,” Enjolras said, turning back towards the front of the church.

“Oh, no,” Grantaire sneered, sitting forward to nearly talk into the blond’s ear. “I’m sure most of us have had impure _actions_ , why are you upset over a few wanderings of the mind? You’re the purest out of all of us, Enjolras, I wouldn’t fear the wrath of our Heavenly Father. Or do you scurry off to the church every time you—“

“About a man.”

The smirk fell from Grantaire’s face as he stared at Enjolras’s marble expression, focused on the distance.

“Hmm…I see,” said the brunet, resting an arm on the back of the pew. “Well…I wouldn’t say you’re particularly unique in that fact.”

“It’s a sin,” Enjolras stated, turning to look at Grantaire, a flicker of emotion across his face that looked suspiciously like worry—and guilt, and maybe the drunk had emptied a few more bottles than he had thought that night, but he swore he saw the smallest hint of desire.

“Plenty of things are sins,” Grantaire said. “Our Father is forgiving, isn’t he?”

“Not this—I, to accept this would make me an abomination, I couldn’t—“

“I couldn’t see you lusting after anyone, dear Apollo,” said Grantaire. “And you said ‘a’ man, not men in general…my, my, are you in love?”

“No.”

“You’re quick to protest,” Grantaire said, frowning, “Are you lusting after someone, then? Do you just want to ravish him remorselessly? To use him as an object for you pleasure?”

“I would never—“

“Well! I can’t say it seems very sinful, then.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do, Enjolras.”

Grantaire sat back, removing himself from the blond’s field of view, and turned his eyes to the high ceiling.

“You couldn’t sin,” he said, voice soft but easily heard in the still cathedral. “A saint cannot sin.”

“I’m no saint, Grantaire.”

“Well, you’re the closest I’ll ever see.”

Enjolras had no response to that, and the sound of rain was all they heard for a few long moments.

“Let me show you,” is what broke the silence, Grantaire again speaking into Enjolras’s ear, watching the gold hairs on the back of his neck stand up. (Well, it was cold in the church, maybe the reaction was coincidental.)

“…show me what?” Enjolras asked, as if he was afraid of the answer.

“There can be love in temptation. Physical desire isn’t necessarily sinful.”

“What love do you have to show me?”

Grantaire set a now steady hand on his friend’s shoulder, almost surprised that Enjolras didn’t pull away.

“Please,” Grantaire said, gently. “Let me show you.”

Enjolras continued staring forward, but he seemed relaxed under the brunet’s hand.

“Here?”

“Do you want to go out in the rain?”

“That’s sacrilegious.”

“Then we’ll ask for forgiveness. You’re seeking approval for these thoughts, aren’t you? Why hide the actions from God? He’s the only one who will know.”

Enjolras sat silent a moment.

“You’re a man, Grantaire.”

“What does it matter? Close your eyes. You won’t be able to tell.”

“What, exactly, are you planning to do?”

“I’ll blindfold you,” Grantaire started, words coming easily, almost as if he’d planned it all before, “if you wish. Then I’ll get on my knees in front of you and take you into my mouth, and taste you until your cries echo off the far walls. And God will be happy that His children were given pleasure, and you will worship Him all the more that you experience what pleasures He put on this Earth for you to have. I’ll be silent, if you want. Through the quiet and darkness you can imagine a woman on her knees, instead, if that’s what pleases you. Just let me do this for you.”

Enjolras’s face was flushed—it was easy to see, even in the dim light. But when his voice came, it was steady.

“And if I say no?”

Grantaire moved his hand off Enjolras’s shoulder to place it on the pew again.

“Then I’ll leave you to your prayer.”

Grantaire’s heart beat hard in his chest, and he liked to imagine that Enjolras’s was beating the same—though hopefully from anticipation rather than fear of a wrathful God.

The silence drew on for a length, and Grantaire reluctantly took that to be a dismissal. He stood up and brushed the dust off his trousers.

“Grantaire.”

The drunk paused, looking again at the back of Enjolras’s head.

“…blindfold me.”

Grantaire hid his smile, as if Enjolras could sense it was there, and removed his cravat to tie over Enjolras’s eyes, taking care to move the golden hair out of the way.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No.”

Grantaire paused, his hands still brushing over Enjolras’s hair as the blond stared blindly forward.

“But…I would like you to show me anyways.”

The brunet quickly stepped around the edge of the pew to come around and face Enjolras, nervous despite himself, kneeling in front of his friend.

“Do you do this often?” Enjolras asked, facing the ceiling.

“Let’s not talk about that,” Grantaire answered, beginning to undo the blonde’s pants. Enjolras’s silence was enough of an agreement, and Grantaire undressed him, thankful that he didn’t have to hide his reverent gaze—that he didn’t have to hide how long he’d thought about doing this.

(Though, the church was a surprise.)

Enjolras winced when bare flesh made contact with the church pew, and Grantaire was surprised to find him half hard already. Either his speech was more arousing than he’d thought, or Enjolras had been anticipating this more than his anxiety at the subject would allow him to reveal.

Not leaving any time for hesitation, Grantaire took Enjolras’s cock into his mouth, holding the blond’s thin hips in his hands as they jerked upwards.

Enjolras was quiet, though his expression gave him away, biting his lips to keep in his gasp and face flushed as Grantaire experimentally moved along his length, slowly and deliberately, testing the waters and taking his own delight in seeing his fearless leader so easily undone.

Grantaire hummed around Enjolras’s cock, finally managing to get a reaction out of him, a gasp ringing around the stone walls of the church.

“Granta—ahh,” he breathed, his hands finding their way to the brunet’s curls—giving him pause, but when Enjolras’s hands didn’t pull him away, just rested there, he leaned forward, taking Enjolras carefully into his throat, causing the blond’s hands to grip his hair in an effort not to cry out.

Grantaire moaned appreciatively at the movement, maybe a bit exaggerated for Enjolras’s sake, and the vibrations seemed to travel right up Enjolras—to his back, keeling over, and down his arms to have his hands wrenching at the dark hair under them, and to his mouth, opening to release a cry that echoed off the walls as much as it echoed Grantaire’s previous promise.

The drunk swallowed what Enjolras gave him, releasing his grip on the other’s hips to slide his hands down his friends’ legs, not particularly surprised that he brought the blonde to orgasm so quickly. Enjolras had little practice, while Grantaire had much—it wasn’t a very lasting combination.

He lifted his mouth off Enjolras, licking his lips habitually and looked up to see two usually-blue eyes looking down at him, peeking over Grantaire’s cravat, their color barely visible behind Enjolras’s blown pupils.

The blond pulled off the blindfold and held it in his hand—red-faced but not ashamed.

“You say this is what love feels like?” he asked, after taking a moment to compose himself, seemingly unbothered by their disheveled state.

“No,” said Grantaire. “And…yes.”

Enjolras frowned and stood up, dressing once more.

“Don’t talk to me in riddles.”

Grantaire remained on his knees.

“Sometimes riddles carry clearer meaning than rhetoric.”

Enjolras stared down at the cravat in his hand, and Grantaire took his silence to speak further.

“I showed you the love a man has for a woman when he recites poetry just to get her in his bed. Give me a month, and I can show you the love two students feel when they have stars in their eyes and believe their partner is the only flawless being in the world. A year, and I will show you how they feel when they’re giving their wedding vows. Ten, how they feel when they become a family and not a couple. Fifty, when they get to act like they’re only a couple again. Give me a lifetime, and maybe I will be able to show you the love two people have when the Universes have dictated their meeting and the Heavens rejoice with every brush of their skin, and the stars in their eyes are not just stars, but the cosmos, perfectly aligned and orbiting around the other’s soul in ecstatic motion. Give me your life, Enjolras, and I might be able to show you that.”

Enjolras listened to this riddle, and offered a hand to Grantaire at its conclusion, pulling him up from the floor.

He examined the drunkard critically, before taking the stubbled face in his hands and kissing it, lips pressed to the other’s in a manner more formal than gentle.

‘Well, he’ll learn,’ Grantaire thought, good humor back at the display of affection.

“I’ll give you a week,” Enjolras said, dropping his hands from the other’s face, “and you can show me how you feel about me.”

Grantaire smirked, and nodded. “I’ll take your week,” said his mouth, and his smile.

But as Enjolras made his way out, as calm as the rain had settled to, Grantaire’s sigh, and his gaze, read a different verse.

(‘I’d need much more than a lifetime to show you that.’)


End file.
